


Unicorn

by RoryKurago



Category: Doom (2005)
Genre: Gen, Pre movie
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:27:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24037372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoryKurago/pseuds/RoryKurago
Summary: Living in communal barracks will teach you more about a person than you want to know, but some things will always be baffling.
Relationships: John Grimm & Asher "Sarge" Mahonin
Kudos: 21
Collections: Rory's 100 Themes Writing Challenge





	Unicorn

**Author's Note:**

> #25: Unicorn

Living in communal barracks rooms gave an insight into the lives of others unparalleled by anything in the civilian world. John was too-intimately familiar with Portman’s masturbation noises, and the fact that any field ex longer than three days had Duke’s legs breaking out in a rash of pimples. He knew that Destroyer knew every Taylor Swift song and sang them to himself whilst working if there was no music. He knew any disturbance to Goat’s Exactly-So layout invited rage, and that Mac really did read Penthouse for the articles (always _before_ Portman got his hands on them).

John knew and had seen more than he wanted. But this...

It was the first time Sarge had the team over to his house for beers and barbecue, and John could only stand in the living room and stare.

“Something on your mind, John?” An uncapped beer appeared at his shoulder. Sarge raised an eyebrow, inviting comment from his new 2IC.

John took the bottle and drank to buy time. The fluffy unicorn rug thrown over the couch grinned at him. A carved wooden unicorn reared from the stand of the table lamp. The 1980’s airbrushed fantasy painting on the wall demanded attention.

“So…" John managed to quip, "when’s your ex coming back to get her stuff?”

“This shit ain’t hers.” Sarge didn’t seem offended. “You mean the rug? My little sister got me that.”

John struggled for a graceful way out. When there wasn't one, he blurted, “This is a shitload of unicorns, Sarge.”

"Unicorns," Sarge said, as stone-cold soberly as the first day he’d addressed them as a callsign complete, “are fucking majestic.”

John felt a sweat threaten to break out as the sergeant stared him down.

Then the Sarge cracked a grin. “Don’t think too hard on it, Reaper," he chuckled. The tension broke. He slapped John on the back and pushed the beer into John's chest. "Have another drink and enjoy the afternoon.” He sauntered off whistling.

John took a minute to take stock of his limbs. He'd actually come out of that in one piece.

He glanced at the painting again. At least it was a battle unicorn with an armour-clad warrior woman atop it.


End file.
